


Quixotic Erotic

by ShipThePuppy



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Ero Author AU, Furihata writes the sex, M/M, This can only be a good thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 05:34:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5194112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShipThePuppy/pseuds/ShipThePuppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Nijimura assigns Akashi Seijuurou, a top editor at his publishing company, with the challenge of spearheading their way into the homoerotic market with the help of a successful author, he was prepared to work with the most lascivious of erotic writers. But Furihata Kouki isn’t nearly what he expected, and there’s more than a case of simple writer’s block to be dealt with here.</p><p>Or: Furihata ships it, Akashi learns things about his new author, and things tumble along from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quixotic Erotic

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by ohohomos’ post (http://ohohomos.tumblr.com/post/101761271980/akafuri-au), but doesn’t follow it exactly. (Furi isn’t a virgin, for one.) Written for AkaFuri Porn Day! (Look at the blog for it here: http://akfrpornday.tumblr.com!) 
> 
> Basically AkaFuri Porn Day was created because there have been a concerningly large amount of non-con and/or abusive AkaFuri works in fandom in recent times, so a bunch of AkaFuri peeps back in March decided to get together and post some nice, consensual, non-abusive, healthy relationship NSFW AkaFuri content to help rectify the situation. Please enjoy!
> 
> Currently working on migrating a bunch of Tumblr works over here for easier access.

_“Sentarou, harder. Doit harder, Sen-chan!” Mizunari whined, thrusting her hips back into Sentarou’smovements. “I want to **feel**  you.”_

_“Mizu—ngh.” Sentarou was cut off by a guttural noise that vibrated up his throat. He dug his gloved fingers into her hips like he intended to leave permanent handholds in her skin, and she could feel the heat of his palms even through the material. Wet noises filled the room, more obscene than any profanity to have ever passed her lips as he plunged his cock deep and long._

_“That’s it,” Mizunari urged. She looked over her shoulder at him, short, dark hair framing equally dark eyes that glittered with sensual playfulness. “Just like that, Sen-chan.”_

*****

Akashi Seijuurou closed the book with a sharp  _snap_. “You wish me to take on an author who writes erotica?”

Nijimura leaned back in his desk chair, arms crossed behind his head. “Not just any erotica,  _bestselling_ erotica.” He pointed his chin at the novel in Akashi’s hands, its strangely tasteful cover (green and orange, with only the twined black silhouettes on the cover giving truth to the contents) glimmering like the temptation it was for so many people. “Furihata-sensei is one of the most established and respected in his genre, even if he prefers not to mingle with fellow authors or attend events. He likes his privacy.”

“Furihata-sensei?” Akashi questioned, glancing at the novel’s cover and confirming that, yes, the name on it was definitely Nezumi.

“His true name,” Nijimura explained. “I don’t know why he chose Nezumi as a pen name, but,” he shrugged, “it’s what he wanted. You’ll want to know his real name anyway, for when you meet him.”

Akashi hummed, leaning one elbow on the arm of his chair and his fist against his cheek. With the other hand he held the book, his eyes scanning the deceptive simplicity of the front. He’d had his hand dabbled in enough of the company to know of Nezumi, or Furihata-sensei, at least. His books were instant hits with young adult women, and some of the middle-aged population. There was even a small male demographic that had taken a liking to his style.

His debut series, the first of which Akashi now held in his hands, followed the relationship of heroine Taka Mizunari, and her stubborn lover, Midori Sentarou. A trilogy, the series had been heralded as deeply emotional on top of the expected sexual quality that came with being considered erotica. Following its completion, Furihata-sensei’s second series was published, and centered around two characters first introduced in Mizunari and Sentarou’s story.

The second series, identified by its similar cover style to the first series, but in dark red and light blue rather than orange and green, focused on headstrong, confident Chigami Tora, and the mysterious, calm man she agreed to room with after a fire deemed her previous apartment complex unsafe. Shiroko Setsuya, the male love interest, was the darling of many a reader of Furihata-sensei’s works.

“Still, erotica?” he murmured aloud, his eyes sliding up to lock with Nijimura’s though his body never moved.

“You were the one who said you were bored of working with ‘great philosophical pieces.’ Erotica seemed like a good change of pace for you…and a suitable challenge.”

 _That_  caught Akashi’s attention. Something sharp and curious hedged into his expression. “Challenge?”

Nijimura smiled, lowering his hands to drum his fingers on the arms of his chair. He’d laid the bait, now he just had to wriggle it around a bit for Akashi to grab hold.

“Currently, Furihata-sensei’s second series has recently come to an end. He is releasing short stories in our company’s monthly serial writing magazine, small continuations of his previous series. We hope to compile these at the end of the year and sell them as a collection. In the meantime, he is working on possibly his riskiest undertaking yet.” Nijimura watched the interest flicker in Akashi’s face. “His next trilogy has already been decided as our company’s first foray into homoerotic literature.”

Akashi’s eyes might have widened, or it might have been a trick of the light. “You think this Nezumi,” he held up the book, “this, Furihata-sensei, can successfully breach that market? Why?” His question was deceptively simple, but in it was a hidden demand— _tell me what you know. Convince me._

“Nezumi has an established fanbase of loyal readers,” Nijimura explained, and pulled open one desk drawer. He rooted for a file, which he set carefully on the desk. “As for why take the first step with a genre like erotica, our surveys have shown that our erotica readers seem to be the ones most open to the idea of introducing homosexuality to the mix.”

“An established fanbase isn’t nearly enough reason to take such a risk,” Akashi rebutted, eyes narrowing. “If anything, it could be a deterrent—you and I both know how quickly the readers can turn against an author when public opinion shifts. You’d normally start small, with a newer author, who poses less risk to sales and profits if things go sour. It’s almost illogical to start with such a well-known author as Furihata-sensei.” He leaned forward slightly, and Nijimura could see the thoughts shooting lightning-quick over his eyes. “Unless…you’ve already received some indication it would go well.”

The smirk on Nijimura’s lips was sly, and he slid the file toward Akashi. “Take a look.”

Akashi picked it up, and flipped open the manila cover. His eyes did a rapid scan of the data inside, flipping through the stack of clipped together papers. “Character polls?”

“Furihata-sensei’s stories intertwine. The characters from his second series were first featured in his debut series. His next books are going to focus on one of the side characters from the second series as the protagonist. We did a survey amongst our readers to determine who their favorite side characters were, so he’d have some idea of who to pick for it.” Nijimura cupped his chin. “The results proved interesting.”

Akashi found a page that displayed the mentioned information, showcasing side character popularity. He read the top name aloud, “Fujimata Kouri?”

“A male character,” Nijimura expounded, “who lives next door to the protagonists from Furihata-sensei’s second series. He’s very popular amongst readers, and here’s the best part—he’s openly gay.”

Akashi flicked his gaze to Nijimura. “And so Furihata-sensei is going to write his next trilogy based around this character.” It wasn’t a question.

Nijimura sat back in his chair, smiling in a way that was almost smug. “Yes.”

“And you want me to aid him in this undertaking?” Akashi raised a well-defined brow.

“I  _want_  you,” Nijimura clarified, “to support him. Be his editor, as usual. Pick up his manuscripts for the magazine in person, but stay and chat with him. Work with him as he writes the first book of the new trilogy. Let him bounce ideas off of you, and tell him what works and what doesn’t. You’re one of the best we have Akashi, and if we want this to reach full potential and open the door for us, we’re going to need your help.”

Akashi knew it was an obvious play on his ego, but he didn’t mind. He closed the folder and adopted a dry look. “It has nothing to do with me being bisexual?” he asked rhetorically.

“Well,” Nijimura said, tongue in cheek, “that might be an added bonus. But you really are the best, and we need the best.” He grinned, sickly sweet and admiring.

Akashi almost rolled his eyes. “Enough brown-nosing, Shuzo. I know it must be killing you on the inside.” He set the folder back on Nijimura’s desk. “I’ll do it.”

Nijimura dropped the expression instantly. “Perfect. I’ve already given you his books to familiarize yourself with his style, now you just have to meet him.” He crossed one leg over the other. “In fact, you can do that now. He’s meant to turn in his manuscript for this month’s magazine publication today, but I’ll send him a message letting him know his new editor will be around to pick it up this afternoon.”

Akashi nodded, and gathered up his briefcase. He stood, and addressed Nijimura. “Text me the address, and tell him I’ll be there by two.”

Nijimura nodded, but his voice stopped Akashi before he could exit the office. “Oh, Seijuurou?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t be too surprised when you meet him.”

Akashi gave him a curious parting glance, and left.

*****

Akashi had expected many things to be on the other side of the door when it was answered. A suave man with a cocky smirk, oozing sexuality like expensive cologne. Maybe a younger man, his charm flashing in his smile like a one-way ticket into womens’ beds. Or perhaps even someone slightly older, with a gentle disposition but the eyes of a seasoned lover. Either way, he expected a person obviously experienced in the ways of sex; expected it to show on his face or in his manner like one of the covers of his sensuously written novels. 

What he  _hadn’t_  expected was normal. Utterly, painfully normal.

“Nezumi-sensei?” he said after a pause.

The man—who looked to be Akashi’s age—blinked slowly, tired bags under his eyes dulling his expression. It took him a moment to register what Akashi had said, and then he lit up. “Oh!” He shot frantic looks past Akashi in either direction, and then ushered him in as quickly as possible. “You must be Akashi-san, please come in.”

Akashi did so, removing his shoes in the entryway. “Yes, Nijimura has informed you of my arrival?”

“Yeah, he called earlier.” He squirmed, fidgeting with the hem of the oversized cream-colored turtleneck he wore. “Um, if you don’t mind, please use my surname instead. No one here knows about my penname.”

“Of course, if that’s what you want, sensei.” Akashi smiled, scanning over his newest charge. He was just slightly shorter than Akashi—surprising, he thought grudgingly, as most people he met tended to be  _taller_ —with small pupils, a medium nose, thin lips just a shade off his skin tone, which wasn’t pale, but not tan, either, and brown hair with a ‘just ruffled’ appearance to it. Not immediately attractive, but not unattractive. No outstanding features that stood apart as interesting. Just, normal. Absolutely normal.

This person writes best-selling erotica, he mused, and you’d never know it looking at him.

For some reason, that fact made Furihata’s normalness more interesting than if he’d been what Akashi’d expected.

“I’m here for the manuscript for your contribution to this month’s literary magazine,” he said, hiding his thoughts behind a practiced, professional smile.

“Oh, yes, Nijimura-san mentioned it.” He rocked side to side, and turned, gesturing for Akashi to follow him from the entryway and further into the apartment. “Um, right, I’ve got it in my office. Follow me, please.”

Akashi did so, glancing around as they went. It wasn’t a very large apartment, but was more comfortable than the beginning authors he’d worked with in his early days as an editor. Just off the entryway was a living room with a low table and couch, a small bookshelf under the window on the right-hand wall. A fair-sized television rested on a stand across from the couch. To the left was a completely open kitchen, too small for a table, but with a counter and stools to clearly define the area between living room and kitchen. A hallway broke into the wall directly across living room/kitchen space, and it was down it that Furihata led Akashi. Two doors on the left, one on the right. It was the first door on the left that Furihata entered.

The office was organized chaos, with the majority of the room pristine. A bookshelf was neatly lined with reading material, with everything from history books to travel guides. Reference materials, he guessed. But the desk, pushed against the wall, with its desktop monitor and tower setup, was littered with purposefully placed piles of paper, an open dictionary, scores of pens, and brightly colored sticky notes that graffitied not only bottom edge of the computer screen, but even the wall behind it.

Furihata pulled his rolling chair out from the desk and sat. He rifled in a drawer on the desk and came out with a manila envelope. Akashi accepted it when it was offered, feeling the stack of paper within as he gripped it. Completely aware of Furihata’s watching eyes, he opened the envelope, removed the contents, and began reading.

*****

Furihata was beginning to wonder whether his publishing company was made up entirely of ridiculously attractive people.  His previous editor, Midorima Shintarou, had been attractive as well. It had been in a  _much_  different way than Akashi-san, of course, but he was still good-looking. He was stern and serious, but he’d looked after Furihata since the beginning of his career with the company, back when he was just writing short stories for the occasional compilation.

His major debut as a novelist had been a thing of luck, really. Furihata knew he had an overactive imagination that occasionally got him in trouble, with his habit of daydreaming at odd times. But when he’d seen the chemistry between Midorima and Takao, a waiter at their usual meeting spot, he’d been inspired to write about them.

He’d meant it to be harmless. A quick little jaunt of potential—he’d even adjusted their names and appearances so that they wouldn’t be entirely based in reality, and out of embarrassment that he was writing about his editor in the first place. Thus, Taka Mizunari and Midori Sentarou were born.

Except it  _hadn’t_  remained harmless, known only to him. By pure accident, he’d sent it out with one of his manuscripts to Midorima, who read it. And liked it. And wanted  _more._

And so, his first series was created. In the middle of writing the first trilogy he’d met his new neighbors at the time, Kagami Taiga and Kuroko Tetsuya, and they’d served as inspiration for the  _second_  series’ couple, Chigami and Shiroko.

Of course, the characters weren’t entirely modelled after reality. With time, they became separate from their base counterparts and developed into their own beings—but the similarities could not be denied. Furihata had always been the kind of person to be more inspired by  _people_  than anything else. In a normal situation, it could be an advantage.

But in his current circumstances, it was the source of his trouble.

Fujimata Kouri. Then openly gay side-character set to take center stage in his next trilogy. And whom Furihata had based largely off of himself.

In his defense, it hadn’t seemed like a bad thing at the time! He’d needed someone to fill a side-role, and none of the characters he made up felt right. So, he’d done a taboo, and self-inserted. Fujimata Kouri was essentially  _him_ , with a few small variations. It was meant innocently; the character was never supposed to be popular—he’d kept it a small role on purpose. But he had, and then Nijimura approached him with the idea of breaking into homoerotic literature and, really, how could he refuse?

But therein laid the problem. Because Fujimata was based after Furihata, he couldn’t help but picture  _himself_  every time he tried to create a romantic counterpart. He wasn’t dating anyone he could model one after, and hadn’t in a while. No one he met suited Fujimata, because none of them suited  _Furihata._  It led to one of the most frustrating cases of writer’s block he’d ever had.

“Everything seems to be in order,” Akashi murmured, tucking the manuscript back into the manila envelope, and jolting Furihata from his thoughtful daze. “I’ll do a more thorough read in my office, and email you with any questions before we finalize it. In the meantime, I was wondering you’re free soon, so that we can meet to discuss your novel?”

“Oh, um.” He bit his lip, drumming his fingers on the arms of the chair as he went through his mental calendar. “I’m free this Saturday, if that’s alright?”

Akashi nodded. “It’s fine. Is there a place you have in mind?”

“Actually, I do.” Furihata rummaged on his desk for a lime-green sticky note and a pen, jotting down an address and restaurant name. “It’s a pretty casual place, and doesn’t get too crowded. It’s where Midorima-san and I usually went.”

Akashi took the sticky note when it was offered, flicking his eyes over the address. “Perfect. Does three o’clock work?”

“Yes.” Furihata led Akashi back to the front door. “It was nice meeting you,” he said politely, holding the door open.

“Thank you.” Akashi bowed his head a fraction. “I’ll see you Saturday. I look forward to working with you in the future.”

He exited, and left Furihata with blush-bright cheeks and thinking that confident half-smirks like the one Akashi had flashed him as he went shouldn’t be allowed.

*****

By the time the weekend rolled around, Akashi had read and teased apart all six of Furihata’s books. He left tabs wherever there was even a mention of Fujimata Kouri, returning to those parts and re-reading them multiple times to get a feel for his character. All in all, Akashi felt like he came prepared to discuss and aid with whatever ideas Furihata-sensei might have for the next series.

What he wasn’t prepared for, was there being  _none._

“No ideas,” he said, voice tinged with disbelief, “you have  _no_ ideas?”

Furihata squirmed in the booth seat across from him, sinking lower as he avoided Akashi’s gaze. “I know it’s bad,” he mumbled, tapping his finger on the table. “I can’t help that I have writer’s block.”

 _Writer’s block._  Two words Akashi swore were the bane of his existence. They caused delays and last minute changes, and were generally a hassle to deal with. And now he had to listen to them come from the mouth of one his most interesting challenges to date.

Akashi struggled to keep his expression calm as a waiter approached their table.

“Hello, and welcome to Miracle Café,” he began, the no-doubt rote words sounding almost too cheery. “What can I get you to start off with—oh, hey Furi!”

The waiter’s practiced smile took on actual warmth as he lowered his notepad. “Watcha doin’ here?” He glanced at Akashi, then swept his eyes around the restaurant. “I don’t see Shin-chan around.”

“Hi Takao.” Furihata smiled back, straightening up in his seat. “Midorima-san isn’t with me right now. This is my new editor, Akashi-san. Midorima-san didn’t mention it to you?”

Takao’s grey eyes lit up. “Oh yeah, he did say something about that.” He shrugged. “I must’ve forgot.” His energy never faded, but he seemed a little disappointed at the other’s absence. “Oh well. Can I take your order?”

They ordered sandwiches and drinks, and Takao scurried off to hand it over to the kitchen. The two resumed their previous discussion.

“You haven’t come up with anything?” Akashi reiterated. “Not even a hint?”

Furihata exhaled gustily, running a hand through his messy hair. “It’s not like I don’t want to. It’s just that I  _can’t._  There’s something I’m having major trouble with, and until it gets figured out it’s impossible for the story to progress.”

“And what’s that?”

“There’s no love interest.”

Akashi pursed his lips. That definitely was a major problem. Some stories with romantic sub-plots could get by without an immediate love interest, since the relationships could sort of emerge on their own as the story was written. With a genre like romantic erotica, however, where at least half the story was spent centered on sex and the main plot was focused on the development of the relationship between two characters, a love interest was essential.

“Let’s look at we know,” Akashi suggested. “Fujimata Kouri is a writer that works from home. He has two childhood friends that he spends free time with. What about one of them? The childhood friends angle is popular these days.”

Furihata paled, his face crumpling with distaste. “No, no, not them. Definitely not them.”

The fierce rejection surprised him. “Why not? They’re in perfect position to be used.”

“Just trust me. They don’t work.”

Akashi let it be. “Then perhaps someone from his work?”

Their lunch continued in much the same manner, with Akashi throwing out suggestions and Furihata rejecting them all outright. Takao brought their food, and it was good, but did little to combat the defeated taste in his mouth. Vexation bubbled within him, and there were a few times he struggled not to snap at Furihata. In the end they finished their meal and paid with little progress made. As they left the café, they bumped into a familiar face.

“Midorima-san!” Furihata beamed at his previous editor. “It’s good to see you.”

“Furihata-sensei,” he greeted the other, and then they locked eyes. “Akashi.”

“Midorima,” he said. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Are you meeting with Takao-san?” There was something knowing in the way his eyes crinkled that caught Akashi’s attention.

Midorima blushed. “I’m not here for Takao. I’m just getting lunch.”

Furihata nodded placatingly. “Of course. Well,” he stepped aside, clearing the way for Midorima to enter, “don’t let us keep you from it. I’ll see you around, Midorima-san.”

Midorima frowned and bid them both farewell before passing between them to enter the café. Akashi opened his mouth to speak, but was shushed by Furihata. “Listen,” he said, and gestured for Akashi to join him looking through the glass doors.

“Shin-chan!” Takao’s ecstatic cry could be heard even from outside, and he watched as the waiter fairly pounced the taller man.

“I wasn’t aware they were so close,” he whispered.

“They live together,” Furihata murmured back. “Have for a year. Midorima doesn’t talk about it a lot. He’s more private than Takao.”

They watch for another few moments, and Akashi can’t shake the feeling that there’s something oddly  _familiar_  about their interactions. He set it aside for now, and shook his head. He turned to Furihata. “We’ll discuss more at a later date. Here,” Akashi dug out a business card with his office phone number, “call later and we’ll set up our next meeting.”

Furihata accepted the card. “Okay. Thank you for your time.”

“It’s no problem. Perhaps our next discussion will be more fruitful.”

*****

Akashi Seijuurou was getting  _frustrated._

In the month he’d been Furihata-sensei’s editor, he’d been to the other’s home numerous times, and gone to the café on several occasions as well. In other circumstances, Akashi would have found him to be the ideal person to work with. He worked diligently, and just yesterday had turned in his manuscript for next month’s serial magazine feature— _on time_ and without prompting. Punctuality was a rare thing in a lot of the authors Akashi worked with.

Yes, he should have been a paragon. Except for one thing—the writer was a master at hedging his questions and working around his inquiries whenever Akashi tried to make advances for the novel. All this time, and still, there was no love interest in sight for Fujimata Kouri. He had looked through his copies of the previous novels so many times, searching for a hint of potential, that the spines were already starting to wear.

And still, he was no closer. He was visiting so often at this point, that he’d even met Furihata’s neighbors, Kagami Taiga and Kuroko Tetsuya. (Who, when interacting together like Takao and Midorima, were strangely familiar as well.)

Akashi sighed, cradling his head in his palm with his elbow on the arm rest of his chair. The six novels were spread across his desk, bookmarked and tabbed and color-coded so heavily the books appeared to have a forest of bright neon fanning from the pages. As frustrating as it was, he couldn’t deny he was beginning to look forward to his visits to Furihata-sensei’s apartment. The at times skittish author was amusing, and the more time he spent with him, the less Akashi found his appearance average, and the more he found it…cute.

Akashi knew where thoughts like that could lead him, but found it difficult to care.

A knock at his door had him calling out, “Come in.”

Mibuchi Reo poked his head in. “Sei-chan! I was wondering if you wanted to get drinks with the group later…” Mibuchi paused, and entered the private office (a luxury given to only the best at the company), closing the door behind him. “Having problems?”

“One of my authors has  _writer’s block_ ,” he said levelly.

Mibuchi winced as he took a seat in front of the desk. “That’s the worst. Is it an author I know?”

Akashi glanced pointedly at the books on his desk.

Mibuchi leaned in for a look. “Nezumi-sensei?” He brightened. “I love his books! I own them all!”

“Maybe you can help, then.” Akashi leaned forward. “He’s having trouble finding a love interest for the protagonist of the next trilogy. If you promise not to spread it around, I’ll tell you about it.”

The other editor bounced in his seat. “I promise.” He mimed zipping his lips.

Akashi sat back. He trusted Mibuchi quite a bit, and saw no problem seeking his advice. “The main character is Fujimata Kouri,” Mibuchi’s eyes widened, “and yes, we’re taking a chance and breaking into the homoerotic market. I’ve made countless suggestions,” he gestured at the books and their colorful display, “but he rejects each one. I’m running out of ideas, but our love interest still proves to be a problem.”

Mibuchi thought silently for a moment. “Maybe it’s not the love interest that’s the real problem, but the character?” At Akashi’s raised brow, he elaborated. “Fujimata Kouri is a fairly average person. So average, in fact, it wouldn’t be difficult for most people to relate to him as a character. For someone as outstanding as Nezumi-sensei, maybe the reason he can’t find someone to pair him with is because he can’t relate to someone like that well in the first place?”

Akashi closed his eyes as he chuckled. He imagined Furihata hearing himself described as ‘outstanding,’ and blushing bright red while denying it with frantic waving arms. Mibuchi hadn’t met him, so didn’t know just how normal the author actually was (Akashi himself had had similar expectations before meeting him, after all), so couldn’t see how ridiculous the thought was. If anything, it should be the opposite problem; Furihata should be able to identify with a character like Fujimata easily, they were so alike—

Akashi’s eyes snapped open.

His arm shot out, snatching up one of the books and flipping to a tabbed page that featured Fujimata’s character. He skimmed it, then flipped to another section. And another. And another.

“Well,” he said lowly. “That explains some things.”

He thought about Midorima and Takao, and Furihata’s neighbors, Kagami and Kuroko. He thought about the weird familiarity he felt from them, and why they seemed that way. And finally, he knew.

“Sei-chan?” Mibuchi spoke hesitantly, startled by the sudden rush of motion he’d displayed.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to say no on those drinks at this time, Reo.” He stood, snatching his jacket from the back of his chair and slipping it on. “I have to go meet with Nezumi-sensei.”

Mibuchi’s mouth parted in an ‘o’ of understanding. “Breakthrough?”

Akashi smirked. “Breakthrough.”

*****

The only warning Furihata received about Akashi’s arrival was a brief text sent five minutes in advance. He answered the door with his brow furrowed. “Akashi-san. I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon, since you picked up my manuscript for the magazine just yesterday—”

“You based your characters after real people,” Akashi cut in.

Furihata stiffened, glanced either way down the hall, and pulled his editor into the apartment, shutting the door behind him. “Only partially.”

Akashi stared at him. “And Fujimata Kouri is  _you_.”

Furihata winced, cheeks warm with a small blush. “Kind of, yes.”

Akashi crossed his arms. “You self-inserted.”

“It was never meant to be a big role!” he blurted, embarrassed. He rocked on his feet. “Can we please sit down while we talk?”

Akashi nodded, and the two relocated to the couch. Akashi sat on the right side, while Furihata perched on the left, his fists clenching his knees.

“Now that I know,” Akashi began, “is the fact that he’s based on you the reason you’re having so much trouble?” Furihata nodded. “Tell me the truth, then. What’s the real problem here?”

“I was embarrassed to tell you,” Furihata admitted. “He was never supposed to become popular. I just needed a side-character and I fit. I’ve always been better at modeling characters after people I’ve met.” He hid his face in his hands, muffling his voice somewhat. “But now that I have to pair him with someone, I can’t help imagining him as  _me_  and none of the characters I come up with are suitable to my tastes.”

“No one?” Akashi demanded. “There isn’t anyone you’ve met that you could see yourself being lovers with?”

Furihata paused, his most recent daydreams playing out in his mind. “Well. There is. One person.” He peeked at Akashi, and then immediately looked away. “But I rejected the idea.”

“Why?” he asked. And Furihata thought (though it could just be wishful thinking) he heard a twinge of jealousy when he went on, “Who is it?”

Furihata remained silent.

“Sensei.” His voice was gentle, and Furihata  _melted._  “Tell me, please.”

The author groaned, hunching his shoulders as he turned his face away, resigned. “I rejected it because it would be embarrassing to let you read my glorified fantasies of us!”

In the moment following his outburst, a heavy silence weighed down the room. Furihata’s heart sank in his chest. “I can change editors,” he murmured. “I’m sorry I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

“No.”

The fierce reply made him jerk around. “No?”

“I’m not uncomfortable.” And it was true, it seemed. If anything, Akashi looked _pleased_. “In fact, you’ve given me an idea.”

“What is it?”

“I’m your character’s ideal lover, correct?” Furihata nodded. “Then I see no reason why I can’t…help inspire you.”

Heat pooled in Furihata’s stomach at the sudden sensual turn Akashi’s voice took. He was all at once hyper aware of the few feet between them (and the ease with which that space could be crossed). But his morals jostled him alert. “I don’t do flings.”

Akashi quirked a brow. “Who said it would be a fling?” He leaned on the couch cushion between, and that distance Furihata was so aware of was all at once half-way crossed. “I’m attracted to you,” he said bluntly. “I enjoy your company, and I would like to pursue a physical relationship with you. If something more comes of it from there, I won’t mind.”

Furihata gulped, and the way Akashi’s eyes tracked the movement of his throat was supremely distracting. It had been so long since he’d been in any sort of relationship. His last one had ended disastrously, his boyfriend annoyed at the hours he spent on work. He wasn’t sure he remembered how to engage in something like that anymore.

Akashi was attractive, very much so. His elegant features and gemstone eyes were so striking, and Furihata had more than once caught himself admiring how handsome his hands were. As if the offer of something physical wasn’t temptation enough (the idea of something other than his own fingers getting him off sent a spark of arousal to his hips), he genuinely  _liked_  Akashi, and enjoyed spending time with him. He was worried what would happen if this went south, but in the end if it did, he could always do what he’d mentioned earlier and change editors.

Besides, Akashi was offering him something physical with the potential for more later, and Furihata was interested in exploring that ‘more.’

“Are you sure?” he found himself asking, one last string of doubt. “I mean, compared to you, I’m so—”

“Adorable?” He grinned when Furihata spluttered. “Yes, you are. And I’m sure. We’ll give it until your manuscript for the novel is done, and then we’ll go from there.”

Akashi had moved closer as he spoke, his focus locked on Furihata’s lips, so it was with lust burning in his throat that he answered, “Okay.”

Which was how minutes later he found himself straddling Akashi’s waist with his tongue in his mouth and their pants undone.

Furihata rolled his hips, grinding their bare cocks together. He moaned around Akashi’s tongue, gasping and whimpering when the editor grasped them both in his hand and  _squeezed_.

“Fu—! Aka _shi!_ ” He tossed his head back, breaking the kiss. He licked his lips, and arched his back as he pumped himself in the other’s fist. Akashi’s free hand trailed down his back to grasp his bottom, urging Furihata in his thrusts. His fingers digging into such a place made his thighs quiver.

“It’s been too long,” he forced out. “I won’t last.”

“That’s fine,” and if Akashi’s calm, slightly husky voice was as infuriating as it was sexy, “go ahead. I’ll follow.”

Akashi peppered his neck with nibbles and kisses as Furihata broke through his orgasm, catching his semen in his fist to keep from getting their clothes messy. His chest heaved as Akashi’s hips stuttered, his own release finding him with no more than a sharp exhale against Furihata’s clavicle.

For a moment they caught their breaths, chests pressed together. Furihata eventually found the strength to zip his pants and climb off the other’s lap, then seek out a towel for Akashi to clean his hand with.

“That was…,”  _incredible_ , he thought, “nice.”

Akashi huffed with a small laugh. “It was.” He tucked himself away and fixed his pants. “I should be going before it gets late.”

Furihata saw him to the door, where Akashi gave him one last long, deep kiss. “Get to work,  _Nezumi-sensei.”_

*****

In the months that followed, Furihata was  _inspired_. His work progressed faster than it had in years, his ideas endless and the intimate scenes coming easier than ever before. The introduction of Akami Juurou as Fujimata’s love interest (the name had made Akashi laugh, and Furihata threw a pen at him for it) saw that his novel advanced smoothly.

And in a similar manner, so did his and Akashi’s physical relationship. While they hadn’t gone all the way yet, Furihata had a few experiences he could check off of his ‘try this before you die’ list, and he’d discovered his nipples were more sensitive than he thought. Or maybe it was just because it was Akashi touching him; he was certainly the most intense lover Furihata had ever had.

As the months progressed and summer came to a close, marking just under half a year that Akashi had been his editor, Furihata asked for something different.

“Can we try going on a normal date?”

“Sure,” Akashi’s voice came slightly muffled through the phone. “What part of the manuscript is this for? Are they going to a restaurant?”

“Um, no.” Furihata fiddled with the hem of his shirt, his grip tight on his cell. “It’s not for the manuscript, actually. I just want to go on a date.”

Surprised silence permeated the line, and then relief loosened his hold when Akashi chuckled. “Alright, then. I’ll pick you up. Does eight sound good?”

“Yes. Where are we going?”

“It’s a secret.”

That ‘secret’ ended up being Akashi’s apartment for dinner. Furihata had never been there before, and he awed at how much bigger it was than his own. Sleek and modern, it featured a full kitchen and a bathtub twice the size of his. But the key feature was the sizeable balcony attached to the bedroom, offering a view of the city lights at night. They ate their dinner there, a dish of sautéed vegetables and chicken. The sound of cars was a little distracting, but good food and pleasant company helped drown it out.

“Thank you for indulging me,” Furihata said, when the meal was done and they sat across the small round table, just talking. “I really liked coming here.”

“I’m glad. I’ve enjoyed myself as well.” Akashi leaned on his elbow, piercing Furihata with his eyes. “Why did you suddenly want to have a normal date?”

Furihata blushed. He shrugged one shoulder, looking down at his cleared plate as he fiddled with his napkin. “I guess, I just wanted to spend time with you. Without work involved.”

He felt Akashi’s eyes burning his face, but it wasn’t until he heard a quiet, “Kouki,” that he looked up.

Akashi looked at him like he wanted nothing more than to reach across the table and pull him into his lap. “Will you stay the night?”

Furihata licked his lips, anticipation singing in his nerves. “Yes.”

*****

Akashi’s bed was large and soft; a fact Furihata was grateful for when he found himself kneeling between Akashi’s legs on it.

He’d given Akashi blowjobs before. Many times, in fact. It was one of the things he enjoyed doing for the other quite a bit, because it was one of few ways that Furihata found he could make him come completely undone. But he’d never given him one quite as enthusiastically as he did now, the knowledge of what was to come, of where that cock was going to  _be_ , adding to his own excitement and making him work harder at it.

The head of Akashi’s cock bumped the back of his throat, and he wriggled his head around until he could make it go deeper. Akashi groaned above him, his fingers tangled in Furihata’s hair. He swallowed around him once, almost gagging, and Akashi pulled him off with a sharp hiss. Messy strings of saliva were snapped as Akashi attacked his mouth, kissing him feverishly.

“I wouldn’t have lasted if you kept doing that,” he murmured, catching Furihata’s lower lip with his teeth. “Turn around. Let me repay you.”

Furihata did so, heightened sensual confidence adding a swing to his hips as he kneeled with Akashi at his back. The pop of a cap was the only warning he had of Akashi’s endeavors before a finger was probing at his entrance. He moaned as Akashi spread him open, one digit at a time. When Akashi pulled out after the third finger, he’d expected his cock to be next, but was taken by surprise when instead they were replaced by his tongue.

“Seijuurou!” he yelped, twisting to look over his shoulder as his hips were held still. “Tha-that’s—”

He was cut off by his own whimper when Akashi’s tongue pressed deep. His upper body collapsed onto the mattress, his blush burning down his neck. Akashi took his mouth away, and a few moments later was grinding his slicked cock in the cleft of his cheeks.

“What do you want, Kouki?” The head caught on the rim of muscle as he slid back and forth. “Want me to put my cock in you? Make you feel good?”

Furihata had enough energy to glare half-heartedly back at him. “Seijuurou,” he groaned, “stop teasing. Put it in.”

Akashi chuckled, and then there was wonderful pressure stretching him open. Furihata took a sharp breath, and bounced his hips to help keep rhythm with Akashi’s thrusts.

“Feel so good,” Akashi moaned. He draped himself over Furihata’s back, holding his weight with one hand while the other cupped his hip. He dropped kisses on his shoulder blades like gentle offerings. “So perfect, Kouki, you’re so perfect.”

“Seeiii,” he whined, lifting his torso. “My chest, touch my chest.”

Akashi obeyed, sliding his hand up from Furihata’s waist, across his ribs, to his chest. He sought out one of the stiff, sensitive nipples, and pinched it between his fingers, tugging gently.

“Mnah!” Furihata cried out, his body a livewire of sensation and heat. His cock dripped with pre, and he was sure that the one inside him was doing the same. The slick, wet sounds of their bodies was an erotic play on his ears.

“Gonna come,” he panted. “I’m, I’m gonna—”

“Go ahead,” Akashi said. And his voice was a broken growl that filled Furihata with a sense of pride— _he_ was the one that made him sound like that. “Do it, Kouki.”

Furihata came with a high moan, coming untouched and spilling his seed across the bed sheets. He trembled in Akashi’s arms, still sensitive as his orgasm faded and Akashi chased his with a few final thrusts into Furihata’s pliant body.

He could feel the pulse of his cock inside him, and it made him blush further to know that Akashi’s semen was warm and in such a deep place. They nestled together in the afterglow, collapsing to the mattress and rolling around until they were comfortable.

“Akashi?” Furihata mumbled, their faces so close they were practically sharing the same breaths.

“Hm?” he hummed tiredly. He stroked a hand down Furihata’s cheek.

“I know we were going to wait until the manuscript was done to see where this took us, but…”

Akashi shushed him with a gentle kiss. “Forget that. We both know this is more than physical at this point. Besides,” he pulled Furihata closer, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Furihata grinned, and brushed their noses together. “Me, too.”

*****

A month later, he finished the manuscript. Furihata felt so triumphant, he delivered it to Akashi’s office personally. His lover took it with a smile, said, “Perfect,” and pinned him to his desk.

“Hey!” Furihata grabbed his shoulders.

“What? That was just the first book.” Akashi smirked at him, and nipped his chin. “If you’re going to write a trilogy, I think you’ll be needing much more… _inspiration._ ”

Well, Furihata thought, he couldn’t argue with that.


End file.
